IIM 



iiS!!'.! 



P P EMS 

... BY. , . 

CHARLES D. PLATT 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

:rsrBi — — 

Chap. Copyright No. 

ShelfiL_S_Pr- 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



FIRST EDITION, February, 1901 

5 Copies on Japanese Vellum 
r^o Copies on Strathmore Deckle 

This is Strathmore Deckle, V^o. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
'BALLADS OF NEH/ JERSEY IN THE REVOLUTION' 



POEMS 



BY 



CHARLES D. PLATT 



A. WESSELS COMPANY 

NEW YORK 

1901 



i^rmry of Congress 

T\W) Copies Received 
FEB 28 1901 

I ^ Copyright wtry 

SECOND COPY 



TSsrs 
r 7t 



L 



Copyright, rgor 

by 
Charles D. Piatt 



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i>arato0a ;§prinpB, B. 1.^. 



CONTENTS 

Within the Covert of this Shady Glen . . 9 

Present and Absent 10 

He Maketh Intercession for Us . . . .11 

The Chimes of Williamstown .... 12 

Lilies of the Valley 14 

October Song 16 

Hepaticas 17 

Sonnet • . 18 

Sonnet 19 

The Captive's Lament 20 

The Voice in the Storm 21 

A Romance from Real Life .... 22 

Audubon 23 

In a Nook 24 

A Wayside Sketch 26 

Ferns and Golden Rods 28 

When Women Think 30 

I am not Rich 31 

A Vision 32 



CONTENTS 



What Fact To-day ? 

Must Friends be Faultless? 

The Light of the Eye 

My Valentine 

On the Higher Education of W 

The Closed Gentian 

A Vase of Wild Flowers . 

The Quiet Hour 

Leave All for Love 

My Love is Fair 

Cupid, if thy Office Be 

Extravagance .... 

The Posy 

At the Photographer's 
A May Morning 
Stars and Songs 

Roses 

My Love is Far Away 
Within this Glen . 
A Mountain Retreat 

Quatrain 

Ferns and Daisies 

Delia 

When Phyllis Plays 
Odr to a Lemon Pie 



33 
34 
35 
36 
38 
40 
42 
44 
46 
47 
48 
50 
51 
52 
54 
55 
56 
58 
59 
60 
61 
62 
63 
64 
65 



CONTENTS 


5 


Goin' fer the Milk 


66 


Life on a Farm 


68 


Fishing by Moonlight 


. 70 


Silvia 


72 


Human Infirmity 


73 


Celia's Dowry 


74 


The Retort 


. 76 


Strictly Confidential .... 


78 


Song: Celia 


. 79 


Beloved, Thou art as a Book 


80 


Morning Glories 


81 


Beside the Still Waters 


82 


On Wedlock 


83 


A Ditty for Lovers 


84 


A Greek Statue 


. 85 


Stand Back and View thy Work 


86 


The Portrait of a Lady .... 


88 


Nature's Variety 


90 


Phyllis of the Highlands .... 


92 


Phyllis of the Lowlands 


94 


What Shall it Be ? 


. 96 


In Honor of an Eightieth Birthday . 


97 


From Dawn to Day 


98 


Three Score and Ten .... 


99 


To My First Love 


. 100 



CONTENTS 



Grandma's Valentine . 
St. Valentine's Warning 
A Valentine to Margaret 

A Prayer 

Inequality 

Weddings 

We're Gittin' Middle-Aged 
The Jolly Old Dominie. 

The Snow 

The Clouds .... 

The Voice of the Press 
The Word .... 

Rejoice, Ye Desert Places 

Margaret 

Loss and Gain . . . . 
For Thanksgiving Day . 
Hymn: Come When Thou Wllt 
L' Envoi 



101 
102 
103 
104 
105 
106 
108 
112 
114 
116 
118 
120 
122 
123 
124 
126 
127 
128 



WITHIN THE COVERT OF THIS SHADY GLEN 

WITHIN the covert of this shady glen 
I think of thee and wish thee b}^ my side, 
I seem to hear thy murmuring voice, but when 

I turn to greet thee — lo ! the waters glide 
And roll and tumble down their rocky bed. 
But the sweet music of thy voice is fled. 

I watch the dimples on the rippling stream, 
The trembling light that leaps and sparkles there ; 

I seem to catch at times a softer gleam, 
A well-remembered smile more coy, more fair; 

But when I look for thee, the shadows hide 

That form I fondlj^ thought was by my side. 

Ah, laughing streamlet, thou canst never learn 
The music that my longing heart would hear; 

For lovelier smiles than thou canst give, I yearn — 
For one whose absent form seems ever near ; 

Thy crystal pools might all unheeded lie 

Could I but hear her footstep drawing nigh. 



PRESENT AND ABSENT 

WHEN thou art near, my heart is all aglow 
With silent, inexpressible delight, 
As when the rising beams of morning throw^ 

Their radiance o'er the gloomy face of night: 
Such power is thine to make my heart's true day, 
For in thy presence darkness melts away. 

And when removed by barriers of space, 
I think upon thy cherished memory, 

And conjure up thy love-illumined face 

And all thy sweet, unconscious witchery. 

Then like a star thy love-lit candle burns 

Until thy absent one to thee returns. 



HE AIAKETH INTERCESSION FOR US 

WHEN the worn heart is bowed with secret grief, 
And filled with bitter thoughts or trembling fears ; 
When the vexed spirit clamors for relief 

And all the soul is bathed in hidden tears, 
Then like an infant let it raise the cry 
That quickh^ brings the God of Comfort nigh. 

'Tis silent sorrow overwhelms the soul. 

*Tis the sharp pang no earthly friend can share, 
But One there is who hastens to console 

The heart that falters, tottering in despair; 
The Comforter, our promised heavenly friend, 
Has sovereign power the broken heart to mend. 

For when we scarce can voice our deepest need, 
Sunk 'neath our burden of unuttered prayer, 

He stands before the throne to intercede, 
Presenting all our woe and all our care; 

With eloquence unutterable He cries, 

And He that spared not His own Son replies. 



THE CHIMES OF WILLIAMSTOWN 

THE chiming bells ring sweetly on the air 
And toll a requiem for the passing hour; 
The oft-recurring tones a message bear 
Of penetrative, soul-subduing power. 
While trembling echoes o'er the meadows float, 
Stirred by the cadence of each dying note. 

Yet with a tenderer, more impressive tone 
Those lingering echoes fall upon the ear 

When silently we stand beside a stone 

That bears the name of one we still hold dear. 

While summer breezes, whispering overhead. 

Recall sweet memories of the silent dead. 

Then, as we hear the sweet, familiar chime. 
Breaking the hush of silence long and deep, 

No grief is wakened by the lapse of time. 

For soon we too shall be with those who sleep ; 

The slow-paced hours that keep our souls apart 

Lie, like a burden, on the eager heart. 



J3 



Then softly chime, ye hope-inspiring bells, 
Marking the footsteps of the weary years, 

Till the slow strokes, like watchful sentinels, 
Proclaim to each impatient heart that hears : 

"Soon, soon, shall strike the last sad stroke of 
time ! 

Awake, awake !— the bells of heaven chime !" 



14 



LILIES OF THE VALLEY 

THERE is a chime of tiny bells 
That strike the closing hours of Spring; 
A train of worshipers they bring 

Who love the summons that compels 
Their presence at an ancient shrine 
Where every year new glories shine. 

Those daint3' bells are silent all, 
Their notes are breaths of sweet perfume, 
Their snow3^ white dispels the gloom 

That lingers yet from Winter's pall ; 
Go, mark the belfry where they swing, 
How sweet the fragrant chimes they ring. 

The worshipers who heed that call 
Are robed in beauty fresh and fair ; 
They bring a sense of joy where'er 

Their gentle, gladsome footsteps fall : 
Bright smiles light up each beaming face 
That takes its heaven-appointed place. 



'5 



And sweetly warbling choirs the while, 
In joyful strains of heartfelt praise, 
A hallelujah chorus raise 

Re-echoing through each forest aisle, 
Till, lost in harmony sublime, 
The little lilies cease their chime. 

But, sometimes, as I wander forth 
Where little graves lie side by side, 
While fades the light of even-tide, 

And shines the pole-star in the North, 
I seem to hear a sweeter chime, 
A heavenlv music more sublime. 



t6 



OCTOBER SONG 

SEE the leaves come fluttering down, 
Red and crimson, yellow and brown, 
See the leaves come fluttering down ! 

In royal robes the trees are clad, 

Their hearts rejoice though ours be sad— 

In royal robes the trees are clad. 

To-day they wear no garb of grief 

But beauty glows on each trembling leaf. 

To-day they wear no garb of grief. 

Theirs is the joy and ours the grief; 
So, like the dying, glorious leaf. 
The good depart— ours is the grief. 

See the leaves come fluttering down. 
Red and crimson, yellow and brown. 
Silently falling all over the town. 
Dropping, whirling, fluttering down. 



'7 



HEPATICAS 

WHITE hepaticas and blue 
Mid the dead leaves 
peeping through; 
Chestnut leaves and leaves of oak 
Smitten by the frosty stroke 
Of old winter — here they lie, 
Rustling as the wind goes bj' : 
And among them, peeping through. 
White hepaticas and blue. 

White hepaticas and blue, 
Delicate in form and hue : 
White as snowflakes, or with pink 
Tinted ; or they wink and blink. 
Like my blue-eyed baby twins 
When a frolic mood begins — 
Delicate in form and hue. 
White hepaticas and blue. 

White hepaticas and blue. 
Here a many, there a few ; 
Here a bud and there a clump. 
Nodding near a mossy stump, 
Where the dead leaves rustling lie 
And the wind comes blustering by : 
Here a manv, there a few. 
White hepaticas and blue. 



i8 



SHUT in within four narrow walls, 
Awhile from busy toil I rest 
And draw the curtains closely, lest 

The light should flood those shadowy halls 

To which the hour of revery calls : 
No more I seek with eager zest 
The charms on earth and sky imprest, 

For on my waiting spirit falls 
The spell of human destinies. 
Of lives whose daily orbits touch 

My own; whence come they ? whither tend ? 
O for the keen, sure glance that sees 
The straight, true course; that sees 
how much 

We each on each, and all on One depend! 



'9 



I LIE upon my couch, as if at rest 
From all the labors of the busy day ; 
Yet do sad, flitting ghosts through memory 
stray 
Of deeds then done, upon my soul imprest ; 
And as men say of ghosts, "Some soul unblest 
Is doomed to wander till the living pay 
Neglected rites of burial or stay 
Its troubled walk by hidden wrong confest," 
So is it with the thoughts that do not cease 
To haunt the quiet of my midnight hour ; 
The consciousness of aught unworthy done 

In the heat of action now doth mar my peace, 
And mock with weakness all the restless 
power 
That filled the hours from rise to set of sun. 



THE CAPTIVE'S LAMENT 

OTHOU whose eye this word of warning meets, 
Wouldst hearken to a helpless captive's fate? 

I am that man who erst at heaven's gate 
Did knock, in haste to tread the golden streets, 
Eager to taste and revel in the sweets 

Of the seventh heaven, my soul to satiate 

With joys unspeakable, nor deign to wait 
While Time his slow, insipid round completes : 
Behold me now, bound hand and foot with chains ; 

Imprisoned in the keep of human love ; 

Barred from those heavens, be they six or seven ; 
Surrounded by strong guards, who mock my pains 

With childish glee — their mother, hand in glove 

With the 3'oung rogues, rules this first earthly 
heaven. 



THE VOICE IN THE STORM 

NOT alwaj'S under calm and sunny skies 
The Lord doth meet us, tho' we seek Him there 
Eager to hear him talk of lilies fair 
And utter parables that make men wise ; 

Nor do we find the One whose word we prize 
Always at feasts, though He doth love to share 
Our social joys, and when we feasts prepare 
'Tis He w^ith better w^ine our want supplies ; 

But sometimes on the wings of storm He comes, 
In the black midnight of our deep despair, 
'Mid raging waves and winds that never cease ; 

When the helm fails us, and the cold benumbs 
Our helpless hands— then, as we lift our praA'er 
He speaks, and lo ! our hearts are filled with peace. 



A ROMANCE FROM REAL LIFE 

YOU see that nest? 'Twas made a year ago ; 
A pair of Phoebe birds ensconced it there ; 
'Tis framed of twigs and lined with wool and hair, 
The work of many a journey to and fro 
From meadow, barn, and hedge to portico. 

The little couple were a reckless pair: 

He had no capital nor friends at court; 
She had no wedding dower — and so, in short. 
Here they began this castle in the air, 
And sang — yes, sang; nor gave a thought to care. 

They loved each other; what could heart wish more? 

To work they went, contented with their lot; 

Picked out this sheltered, unpretentious spot, 
And, what with native wit and Nature's store 
Of mud and moss, the}' settled, near my door. 

Ere long the nest contained a thriving brood 
Of little Phoebes; scarcely could they keep 

Within its narrow bounds — pheree! cheep! cheep! 
The father stirred about and gathered food. 
But did not sing as loud as when he wooed. 

The chicks grew up and learned to fly about: 

They left the nest and oif they went— who knows 
Where they are now! You see, it only shows 
That when this careless, happy pair set out, 
Their capital was Love — and Faith, no doubt. 



AUDUBON 

TURNING the printed page this afternoon 
I came upon the well-beloved name 
Of one whose goodness doth surpass his fame, 
And as I read my heart grew more in tune 
With hope and faith in Providence; a boon 

It was to touch his garment's hem: he came, 
Stricken by fever, to these hills, that claim 
New honor thence, and here recovering soon 

Through watchful care (great issues oft depend 
On lowly service) forth he went, made whole, 
To meet the future with its joys and tears — 
Genius and thrift at strife; till in the end 
He gained, through fortunes wrecked, his being's 
goal. 
Cheered by unchanging love through all the changeful 
years. 



IN A NOOK 

FROM distant prospects with their sweep 
Of mountains rising to the sky, 
With shadowy vales and scenes that keep 

The soul in thraldom to the eye — 
From rolling clouds and landscapes wide 
I love, at times, to turn aside 

And by the margin of a wood, 
In some sequestered nook to rest 

Where wild flowers spring ; a gentle mood 
Of sweet content here fills the breast. 

And violets clustering here and there 

Invite a visitor to share 

The peace and quiet of a scene 

That hath a beauty all its own. 
Where woods and thickets make a screen 

To hide the world, and hither blown 
Come breathings of some milder clime, 
Faint whisperings of the summer time. 

A chirping sound from yonder copse, 

A rustle in the dry leaves near. 
Make known a comrade ; there he hops — 

A bush will hide all he holds dear. 
And o'er this spot there rests a spell 
Whose meaning he alone can tell. 



No need has he of anxious thought, 
No care to hoard his winter store, 

Not from far lands his food is brought, 
He finds it daily at his door, 

And in a burst of thankful song 

He ends the day, nor finds it long. 

Here too would I invoke the power 
Of that great Presence, felt, not seen, 

Who watches o'er this secret bower — 
Who drew me to this place, I ween, 

That I might share yon w^arbler's peace 

While bodings of the morrow cease. 



26 



A WAYSIDE SKETCH 

HER name was Rose — a dainty name 
That fills the air with poesy ; 
Nor did her deed belie the claim 
If I have hit upon the key 
Of her life's humble ministry — 
Her deed ? 'twas nought, yet made me feel 

The thrill of some deep harmony- 
Rose put her shoulder to the wheel. 

No Hercules, in sooth, was she 
To lift on high the heavy wain 

That stopped us, yet 'twas good to see 
Whenas her goodman tugged in vain, 
How she, named Rose, did not disdain 

To lend a hand, and quickly they 
Together cleared the narrow lane 

And we rode on upon our way. 

'Twas on the mountain top, remote 
From haunts of men they lived alone, 

Yet might the chance wayfarer note, 
Though rude their life, not all unknown 
Was life's best art ; that art was shown 

In beds of bloom before their door; 
In act, in look, in word, in tone, 

It found expression o'er and o'er. 



27 



And pleasant is the tliouglit, I own— 
The thought of yonder gentle pair 

Reigning upon their mountain throne ; 
Though homely be their garb, their fare 
Hard won, they have no scanty share 

In life's true joys — he toils amain, 
Her love doth lighten all his care, 

And thus they do not live in vain. 



28 



FERNS AND GOLDEN-RODS 

YE ferns and golden-rods that sway 
Your graceful forms where Delia's hand 
In yonder vase has bid you stand, 
I feel your silent power to-day 
And bring the tribute of my lay 
To you so sweetly mingled there ; 
I do confess you both most fair, 
But which the fairer who can say ? 

Where cooling shadows quench the ray 
Of noonday suns within their shade 
The fern doth nestle, half afraid 

To vie with flowers and blossoms gay ; 

And where the frolic sunbeams play 
Along the road, in meadows wide, 
All up and down the country side. 

Stand golden-rods in bright array. 

The golden-rod doth chase away 
The thought of sadness from my breast 
And stir within my heart the zest 

For joy, as mid the fields I stray; 

And when among the ferns I stay 
My muse her daintiest fancies weaves, 
With tender thoughts her bosom heaves — 

I fain would linger there for aye. 



Ye ferns and golden-rods that swaj- 
Your graceful forms where Nature's hand 
Has bid you grow throughout our land, 

I do confess your charms to-day ; 

Accept this song, nor ask, I pray. 
Which of you twain I deem more fair ; 
Nay, rather, mingle sweetly there, 

Yes, mingle sweetly there for aye. 



30 



WHEN WOMEN THINK 

WHEN women think no more of dress, 
When every gentle votaress 
Of fashion gives the moments spent 
On idle show to high intent 
And clothes her mind with thoughtfulness, 

What rare felicity will bless 
Our favored race, what joys possess 
Man's heart — the world how different 
When w^omen think! 

How different ! you say : ah yes ! 
Dame Nature, too, must then confess 

Her folly, scorn embellishment 

And of her buttercups repent ; 
Change ferns to hay, as you may guess. 
When women think! 



3t 



I AM NOT RICH 

I AM not rich in hoarded gold 
Nor have I, if the truth be told, 
A house that I may call my own 
From turret to foundation stone, 
To shelter me when I grow old. 

Alas, Dame Fortune turns a should- 
er cold to me, 'tis growing cold- 
er still, she heedeth not my moan— 
"I am not rich." 

I onl}^ have a wife — no scold — 
And children live within my fold, 

A friend-thank heaven, not one alone ! 

Some hopes beyond when life is flown ; 
I sigh, yet half the sigh withhold, 
"I am not rich." 



52 



A VISION 

HOW fares the world as years roll by , good friend ? 
Art thou of those who sadly shake the head, 
Mistrust the future, cry "When we are dead, 
Of all that's noble earth shall see an end !" 
For me, I own, sad thoughts at times will blend 
With fondest hopes; and yet when all is said, 
To-day with firmer step the earth I tread. 
Cheered by a vision bright that doth portend 
Joy to the nations and increasing light; 
The vision w^as substantial flesh and blood, 
No airy phantom of a poet's dream — 
A noble woman, blessed was the sight; 
Her presence brought the sunshine in a flood 
And made earth's long-sought heaven nearer seem. 



39 



WHAT FACT TO-DAY ? 

WHAT fadl to-day hath on ray inward eye 
Impressed itself? What pleasant image meet 
For second thought ? What vision pure and sweet, 
Worthy to be recorded ? — Dark the sky 
With thick, rain-dropping clouds, and with a sigh 
I turned from Spenser's fair\'-land to greet 
The real world — school-ward I turned my feet, 
Whither, through rain or shine I daily hie : 
There by the front I entered all alone, 
And, doffing hat and coat, I quick surveyed 
The empty rooms, my poor domain half scorning; 
But when I had with haste wide open thrown 
Another door, there met me, undismayed, 
A laughing school-boy, with a glad "Good morning!' 



MUvST FRlENDvS BE FAULTLESvS? 

MUST friends be faultless? then liath no man friends; 
For all have faults, such is our low estate : 
Men are not angels, though we venerate 
Our "perfect men," to whom affedlion lends 
Its hallowing light — no trivial flaw offends 
The eye that looks in love and knows not hate. 
Why are we friends ? 'Tis not that thou art great 
Or I am faultless, though some greatness blends 
Assuredly with love that still holds fast 
To one who is so faultj- ; but the tie 
That doth unite us is perchance the vision 
Of what our souls aspire to be at last. 
The godlike portion that can never die, 
A hope that shall be ours in fields Eh'sian. 



35 



THE LIGHT OF THE EYE 

LOVE doth behold its objedl glorified ; 
f Unfriendly eyes see flaws and turn away 
Ere they have learned to let the true light play 
Upon the soul's best traits ; but love doth bide 
As one who would behold a landscape wide 
In beauty clad w^aits for the king of day 
To shine from heaven with bright, transforming ray 
And shed a glow o'er vale and mountain side 
Till earth once more a Paradise appears: 
So doth the eye that is by love anointed 
Behold its loved one in the light of heaven, 
Build rainbows where life's clouds distil their tears. 
Nor grieve should sometime hopes be disappointed 
While joy unhoped such grief doth sweetly leaven. 



MY VALENTINE 

I'M now too old and staid bj' far 
To be a mark for Cupid's darts, 
St. Valentine can neither mar 
Nor make the bliss of time-worn hearts. 

And so I do not haste to see 

When post-boy rings, if he doth bring 
A batch of billets-doux for me 

With hearts and darts — I've had mj^ fli"R- 

But how is this ? a piping voice 
Salutes my ear and will not hush ; 

It makes my time-worn heart rejoice, 
I may confess, without a blush. 

In his white envelope he lies 
All snugly wrapped in fold on fold. 

And where the stamp should be, two eyes 
Peep out — they bear the stamp of old 

Ancestral souls ; and deep within 

A little heart is beating there 
For whom life's race doth now begin ; 

He bears love's message written fair 



37 



Upon his tiny, helpless form ; 

He is my latest valentine 
From her near whom he nestles warm ; 

And when she smiles this heart of mine 

Still tingles from an old-time smart — 
To hide it deep was my design ; 

But who could dodge that latest dart ? 
'Twas winged of heaven — my valentine ! 



38 



ON THE HIGHER EDUCATION OF WOMEN 

'BEING AN EPISTLE TO (MISTRESS 

Respected Madam: 

I HEAR thy tallest daughter hath a mind 
To add unto her liberal stock of learning, 
And nothing so deledtable can find, 

So fit to satisfy her heart's deep yearning, 
As musty lore men call Theology— 
Let me suggest a course in Anthropology. 

"The proper study of mankind is man," 

And Pope may claim infallibihty 
For this true word, dispute it ye who can ; 

But now, with vagrant versatility, 
Men — women too — pursue each "ology," 
Yet still negle(5l the needful Anthropology. 

Some turn to investigate their native dust 
And gather store of rocks inanimate, 

Discuss in learned phrase this planet's crust; 
For all the world would not contaminate 

Their hands with pie-crust— Mineralogy 

Hardens their hearts to Anthropology. 



J9 



Some give their hearts — if such a thing can be — 
To foreign tongues and stupid didlionaries, 

And grub for roots ; and yet 'tis plain to see, 
With all their lore they are mere visionaries ; 

Lost in the Babel of Philology, 

They have not learn ' d the speech of Anthropology. 

Ah! Madam, well, I ween, hast thou discharged 

A mother's high responsibility. 
Thrice hath thy house ere now its bounds enlarged, 

Thrice hast thou owned with sweet docility 
The higher claims of Anthropology 
Above each other would-be "ology." 

Then heed, in season, what thine elders say. 

Relieve their minds of all anxiety ; 
Let not thy tallest daughter go astray, 

Nor tread the verge of impropriety 
By solving mysteries of Theology, 
But bid her take a course in Anthropology. 



THE CLOSED GENTIAN 

I SPIED a flower beside the road, 
'Mid taller bushes almost hid; 
And near at hand there swiftly flowed 
A mountain stream — methought it chid 

The lowly blossom: quoth the stream, 
"Pray who will see thee hiding there ? 

Come forth, thou foolish thing, 'twould seem 
Thou fear'st men will not deem thee fair." 

The modest flower made no reply, 

But onlj^ turned a deeper blue ; 
And to my thought, I know not why. 

It seemed more fair half hid from view. 

"Thou stupid blossom!" cried the stream, 
"Hast thou a tongue? then, prithee, speak; 

This is no time for thee to dream ; 
Glib tongues like mine are what men seek." 

The gentle flower spoke not a word, 

Its lips scarce parted in a sigh ; 
Yet eloquent, though all imheard. 

Were the soft glances of its eye. 



4t 



Then said the stream, "Thou s,\\\y flower! 

The world will never call thee great ; 
Bestir thee, strive like me for power 

And haste to win it ere too late." 

Upon its slender, leafy stem 

The flower inclined, then shook its head : 
"Of thee I'll make a diadem 

To crown my own true love," I said. 

"For she is like thee, modest flower; 

So gentle, unobtrusive, coy ; 
"Without a word she wields a power 

That fills my inmost heart with joy." 



A VASE OF WILD FLOWERS 

UPON the table 3'onder stands 
A vase with blossoms filled — they grew 
Wild in the fields till gentle hands 

Placed them where now they meet the view- 
Some slender sprays of golden-rod 

Offset by clustering asters blue, 
And here and there among them nod 
Some blossoms of a paler hue. 

Had I the painter's magic art, 

In glowing colors I would trace 
Their mingled forms ; yet on my heart 

Is fixed their sweet, unconscious grace : 
A pi(5lure this not made with hands, 

Just as they look in yonder vase 
That on the parlor table stands 

This morning : time cannot efface 

That pleasing image deep within ; 

The blossoms in the vase may fade, 
But there is something that hath been 

And cannot die— yes, here we laid, 
In this same room, a golden-haired. 

Beloved child ; a little maid 
Whose infant life, while it was spared. 

Was full of glee ; beside her played 



The world will never laud her art, 

Perhaps 'twill never hear of mine ; 
But if mj^ muse fulfils her part 

As well as those deft hands of thine, 
Good wife, the busy needle ply. 

The world shall trace in many a line 
Thine image sitting silent by 

My side, while I "invoke the Nine." 



46 



"LEAVE ALL FOR LOVE" 

LEAVE all for love — no man has learned to love 
^ Whose heart is set upon the fair estate 
Some woman brings as dowry ; far above 

The love of lucre is that bond of fate 
That joins two living souls — leave all for love. 

Leave all for love — the work not w^rought in love, 
Though w^inning gold uncounted, prospers not; 

The hours tmhallowed by a zeal above 
The slave's forced w^ill are w^illingly forgot ; 

Thy heart shall choose thy work — leave all for love. 

Leave all for love — no good is done where love 
Springs not from heart to heart ; the simple cup 

Of water given thus is prized above 
A princely boon, its memory treasured up 

In heaven : cease doing good — leave all for love. 

Leave all for love— the undivided love 

Of thy whole heart is asked ; no other gift 

Can satisfy the One who from above 
Calls thee to Him and would thy soul uplift 

To be like Him : like Him, leave all for love. 



41 



"MY LOVE IS FAIR" 

MY love is fair, but I her beauty see 
Transfigured by the radiance of her heart ; 
'Tis not her skill in music pleaseth me, 
Nor is she versed in science or in art. 
And yet she hath a charm whose potent spell 
Music and art may hint but never tell. 

She's good, yet not what some would call a saint, 
Nor given to frequent talk on sacred themes ; 

She never speaks of patience, yet complaint 
Is seldom on her lips, and so she seems 

More gracious in her sweet simplicity 

Than if she hourly spoke a homily. 

She hath not brought me store of yellow gold 
By right of dower, nor yet by management ; 

And if in such a tilt I may make bold, 
We'll say she is at times extravagant ; 

But so am I— extravagantly fond : 

All turns to gold beneath Love's magic wand. 



"CUPID, IF THY OFFICE BE" 

CUPID, if thy office be 
To inveigle foolish mortals, 
Promising felicity 

Through the rose entwined portals 
Of fair Hymen's blissful bowers ; 
If it be thy task to lure us 
Up a path bestrewn with flowers ; 
Ever smiling, to assure us 
Honeymoons w^ill never wane ; 
Treacherously then forsake us, 
Leaving only tears and pain 
And bitter grief to overtake us — 
If such be thy heartless task, 
Then no help of thine I ask. 



BUT if thou art he that keepeth 
Charms with power to banish woe; 
If thou art the god who reapeth 
Heavenly fruits on earth below ; 
If thy magic never faileth, 
Deepening with the passing years ; 
If no heart thy power bewaileth 
On earth or in the heavenly spheres ; 
If 'tis thine to anoint the eyes 
That they may all beauty see, 
While true lovers daily rise 
To heights of new felicity ; 
If thou cunningly dost lure them 
To a bliss they else had missed ; 
If thy art alone can cure them 
Of woes that Reason's skill resist — 
Cupid, if such be thy deeds, 
Here is one for favor pleads. 



50 



EXTRAVAGANCE 

I'VE charged her with extravagance ; 
Now let who w^ill investigate 
That fatal charge — the evidence 

Against defendant I will state. 
And first, she frequently will buy 

A useless toy for little Jim, 
And purchase sugar-plums (that I 
Devour — they are not good for him.) 

She's always asking, too, for cash 

To pay the household help, and when 
She goes to town, what heaps of trash 

She buys ! she soon runs through a ten 
In getting hats and shoes and stuif 

For Sall3^'s cloak and Kitty's dress; 
They never seem to have enough — 

My "cash on hand" grows less and less. 

She spends all she can get ; and I — 

Why, I expend what then remains ; 
Or, can it be! now pray don't pry 

Too closely into my domains ! 
A man may surely spend his own, 

And do therewith as he may list ; 
But she, as I have clearly shown, 

Spends all she gets— the court's dismissed. 



THE POSY 

A POSY for 1113' own true love 
I plucked upon the mountain top, 
The first fair blooms that peeped above 
The ground — what could I do but stop 
And pluck a posy for my love, 

A posy. 

Posy in hand I homeward turned, 

And on the way a sonnet conned 
To match the flowers— methought they yearned 

To indite some message, tender, fond. 
Such as true lovers oft have learned 

From a posy. 

My heart was glad as I bent low 
To catch the whispered word I sought. 

And the sun, just up, was all aglow 
As he read the message the posy brought — 

What was it ? If j-ou'd like to know. 

Ask the posy. 



52 



AT THE PHOTOGRAPHER'S 

"T"T"ERE are your proofs, sir; these are the boys; 

Xl The baby took well, so did Dick ; 
You see that look — I was making a noise 

Just then and the baby looked up — quick 
As a flash I pressed the ball — a snap — 
And two round faces were caught in a trap. 

"And here are the girls, the three little girls; 

The oldest one with her flowing hair 
And the next with hers done up in curls, 

And, standing betw^een them on a chair, 
The smallest one, like a fairy sprite, 
A two-year old, dressed all in white. 

"You'll have them put in the family book, 

I suppose ; 'twas not so long ago 
That I filled this page, and this one — look! 

It's wonderful how these children grow ! 
And a book like this show^s how they change 
From babies to old folks — isn't it strange! 



55 



STARS AND SONGS 

THE twinkling stars that in the sky 
So sweetly cheer the gloom of night 
Make not unbroken lines of light, 
But one by one they meet the eye. 

Each pleases in itself, and yet 
They form a still more glorious whole, 
When, point by point, from pole to pole, 

The heavens with sparkling gems are set. 

And I've heard say, by one whose song 
Doth gleam, star-like, across our skj-, 
That thus songs come, nor would he try 

To fill huge tomes with epics long. 



56 



ROSES 

I 

THESE rose-buds from my hand accept 
The full-blown roses shall be given 
To yonder matron, who has stept 

Long since within that earthly heaven, 
Love's magic circle— to thee I give 

These buds that augur hopes beyond, 
And 'tis my prayer these buds may live 
To bloom and speak their message fond. 

II 

Beside a bank where thickly bloomed 

A bed of crimson roses fair 

I stopped and gathered here and there 
A bud, a cluster, and resumed 

My onward way with prize in hand. 

Quickly my thought the distance spanned 
That kept my true love from mj- side; 
That distance was by far too wide 

To send a blooming rose — I planned 
A w^ay love's message to conve\'. 

'Twas this — I know no better waj^ — 
A petal with its crimson glow, 
As sign of fealty, to bestow 

Without the thorn ; and hope she may 
Be ever spared the cruel thorn. 



Ill 

I take this rose with all its thorns, 
I take it from my true-love's hand ; 

What though I hear a voice that w^arns 
Me of the thorn — the heart's demand 

For love o'er every fear prevails ; 

Love braves sharp thorns and piercing nails. 

"Thorns!" say you? ah! that word shall be 
The touch-stone of love's mighty power; 

For thorns enough there are to see 
Without the rose ; but in the bower 

Where roses shed their sweet perfume 

The thorn seems naught, so fair the bloom. 



S8 



MY LOVE IS FAR AWAY 

MY love is far away, yet not so far 
But that one day may bring me to her side ; 
No hidden root of bitterness doth mar 

Our mutual joy, naught but the distance wide 
That must be traversed ere my heart may know^ 
The joy her very presence doth bestow. 

And were that distance twice or thrice as great, 
Then must my journey thither longer be ; 

Longer the time her absent one must wait 
In prospedl of regained felicity ; 

For there is naught to part us but the days 

That separate us with their long delays. 

And should aught make that distance wider still, 
Till long-drawn years, not days, should intervene; 

Yet should bright hopes the time of waiting fill. 
Until my absent love again were seen ; 

For there is naught that keeps my love from me 

Save davs and months and vears and land and sea. 



WITHIN THIS GLEN 

WITHIN this glen I love to hear 
The plash of waters, crystal clear, 
That over moss-grown bowlders roll 

And down their rocky channels glide ; 
Then ripple o'er some pebbly shoal 
Beneath o'erhanging banks to hide. 

Beside those crystal waters cool. 
Gathered in some deep-shaded pool, 
I sit and look upon the stream 

That hither flows and glides away ; 
And as I gaze, a waking dream 

Steals o'er me while the waters play. 

No fairies from their coverts peer, 
No sylvan deities draw near: 
Yet 'mid this peaceful solitude 

A gracious influence I feel 
While o'er the gladsome stream I brood, 

Nor can my song the half reveal. 

Whate'er of love and joy of old 

I've known or hoped doth here unfold ; 

Becomes the spirit of this scene 

And wakes to new-found loveliness : 
Well may I love this place, I ween. 

That hath such power my heart to bless. 



A MOUNTAIN RETREAT 

A NEST among the hills, where ferns, 
Upspringing, fringe the rocks with green 
One distant roof the eye discerns 

Amid the wide-spread A?voodland scene; 
While at our feet a mountain lake 

Lies open to the view, with coves 
Begirt by trees ; its waters break 

In rippling waves when o'er them roves 
The breeze from yonder mountain crest : 

What place more fit than this to stay 
Our steps ? Here 'mid these ferns we'll rest 

While summer breezes round us play. 

Here one might live out all his days. 

At peace with God, at peace with man ; 
And, with a heart attuned to praise. 

Be partner in the glorious plan 
That formed this undisturbed retreat, 

Which like an Eden doth appear ; 
And he who hither turns his feet 

Shall find, in this pure atmosphere, 
The ferment and the fret of life 

Grow less and less and fade away, 
Wliile courage to renew the strife 

For truth grows mightier day b_v day. 



I THINK of a friend and I fain would declare 
The thoughts of my heart that his love planted 
there ; 
But when I would tell them — ah me ! well-a-day ! 
Some few I may utter — the best hide awav. 



FERNS AND DAISIES 

A BUNCH of daisies interspersed 
With graceful ferns — a pleasing sight ! 
Upon long stems now deep immersed 

Within a vase they give delight, 
And seem to win a fairer grace 
Than when they grew, each in its place. 

They grew where Nature Vjade them grow, 

Rejoicing in the life she gave; 
Each lovely in its place, but lo ! 

When Delia, passing by, did crave 
Their presence at her rural board 
They came, nor once the change deplored. 

For it were bliss as j'et unknown 

To add one item to her joy ; 
And, when the summer bloom is flown, 

Become — what time can ne'er destroy — 
A memory that cannot die, 
Where wintry storms shall ne'er draw nigh. 



6? 



DELIA 

IN Delia's heart there is a place 
For earnest thoughts ; there you may trace 
The shadow-pla^'s that come and go, 
As when the summer breezes blow, 
And shade and sunshine mingling fall 
On beds of fern ; but with it all 
Her heart is full of gentle mirth, 
And in her presence is no dearth 
Of cheer and lightsome ga^-ety 
Such as befits a fancy free, 
Uncumbered b^- the cares that come 
With overshadowing gloom to some. 
For like a field with daisies bright 
Her life blooms forth in pure delight; 
And humblest duties, to her hands, 
Bring hourly joys and high commands. 
Heedless of self, she smooths the wa\^ 
Where others tread, and makes the day 
Yield up its hidden store of gold 
From lowly deeds, kind thoughts untold: 
What wonder if the mingled grace 
Of fern and daisy you may trace 
Within her heart and in her face ! 



64 



WHEN PHYLLIS PLAYS 

WHEN Phyllis plays the spinet 
Her nimble fingers fly 
From key to key melodioush' — 

Time slips unheeded hy 
When Phyllis plays the spinet. 

When Phyllis sweetly carols, 

Her voice is full and clear ; 
Each swell and trill my heart doth thril 

With trembling hope and fear, 
When Phyllis sweetly carols. 

When Phyllis groweth merry, 

List to her silver\^ laugh ; 
O the witchery of its rippling glee! 

The sweetest sound by half 
That parts her lips of cherry ! 



6f 



ODE TO A LEMON PIE 

MY heart is taken qtiite by storm, 
No longer can the fadl be hid ; 
Fond memories, like bees a-swarm, 
Beset me 'round and come unbid— 
That lemon pie ! that lemon pie ! 
'Twas love at sight, it took mj- eye ! 
Long since it vanished from my plate. 
But still I love to meditate 
Upon that dainty, flaky crust, 
And all it safely held in trust. 

Blest is the man whose loving wife 
Can so enthrall his heart for hfe. 
And cheer him as the years go by 
With such delicious lemon pie! 

Good matrons all, if you would make 
Your husbands fond, pray learn to bake 
Such pies as this, done to a turn, 
What better lesson could you learn ? 

Ye maidens of the dark brown eyes. 
Or blue — to both this rule applies — 
If you would know the secret art 
To capture and command a heart, 
Take my advice in time, be wise. 
And learn to make such lemon pies ! 



66 



GOIN' FER THE MILK 

TIN pail in hand, I daily hie 
To Farmer Johnson's house near by, 
To fetch the needful quart or two 
Of milk, an' other erran's do ; 
At times a butter-pat I bring, 
A lemon pie er some sech thing. 
I find their hospitable door 
With latch-string out, an' wot is more, 
I'm alwa\'S asked to stay an' chat — 
" Do hev a chair !" — " I'll take your hat !" 
I take the hint an' fer a spell 
We seem to git on purty well ; 
But when I look at Aunt Kezi-er 
It sets me off like a 'lectric wi-er. 
She smiles, I smile, we both git smilin'. 
An' purty soon the pot's a-bilin'. 
To see the way she keeps a-eyin' 
O' me, jes' fairly sets me cryin' ; 
An' all the ladies, settin' 'round. 
Contribute to the joyful sound. 
Sometimes it's all about bokays 
We've gathered in the woodlan' ways ; 
Sometimes it's talk an' sometimes dancin' 
You'd orter see us when we're prancin' ! 



6^ 



It don't take long to hev a turn, 
An' all the fun we git we earn, 
" But I mils' go," sez I, an' then 
I fetch my milk-pail back agen ; 
An' as I travel through the wood, 
Thinks I, "These neighbors air ez good 
Ez they kin be — but m3^ desire 
Is chiefly set on Aunt Kezi-er." 



68 



50A^G— LIFE ON A FARM 

OH, life upon a farm 
Has a neyer-enditig charm, 
As every one who knows will understand ! 
'Tis a fount of glorious health. 
Not to say a source of wealth, 
'Tis, in truth, the occupation of the land ! 

With a horse and cow and pig, 
Where's the man would care a fig 

For the superficial pleasures of the town ! 
While the antics of the calf 
Make the glummest mortal laugh 

And chase away the shadow of a frown. 

Here the chickens and the geese 

Rear their families in peace 
And the ducks go a-swimming in the pond, 

And the gentle turtle-doves 

Tell the story of their loves 
In language most peculiarly fond. 

So, 3''ou see, there is a charm 

In our life upon the farm 
That no other occupation seems to yield, 

And many a summer daj' 

Have I idly whiled away 
Just growing, like the daisies of the field. 



69 



Then rent your house in town, 

And cease to fret and frown, 
And buy a little cottage on a farm ! 

And spend a summer day 

Mid the clover and the haj-. 
And you'll never, never weary of its charm ! 



^o 



FISHING BY MOONLIGHT 

WE went a-fishiiig t'other night, 
Two of us in a boat ; 
The air was cool, the moon shone bright, 
In sooth, it was a lovely sight, 
As we sat side by side, a-float, 
Two of us in a boat. 

We flung our lines and watched a-while. 

But soon forgot to look 
For fish, and the moon began to smile 
To see us fishing in such style; 

Said the moon, "They'll never hook 

A fish, unless they look." 

The waters rippled all around, 

The fish came swimming by ; 
They saw our lines together wound — 
Said they, "What is that gentle sound ? 

Is that a fishing-smack ? O fie !" 

And they went swimming by. 

We didn't catch a fish that night, 

But over on Long Pond 
They caught a-plenty by the light 
Of the same moon that shone so bright 

On us two happy lovers fond 

Who fished upon Green Pond. 



And if you ask me to explain 

Why, over on Long Pond, 
They caught a-plenty, while in vain 
We threw our lines, we lovers twain— 
'Tis simply this, that down beyond 
It's better fishing on Long Pond. 



72 



SILVIA 

DISTRACTED by life's carking care 
And full of moodiness, I sought 
The healing balm of mountain air 
And lonely, meditative thought. 

For sweet it is to draw apart 
From haunts of men, and gather from 

Wild elemental powers the art 
To win the strife where beats no drum. 

Even so it was my hope to find 
In Nature's book some mystic page 

Of virtue to renew the mind 
And all my loftiest powers engage. 

But Silvia came with jocund smile, 

And sombre care retired apace ; 
Beset with serried quip and wile, 

I lost, I lost my sober face ! 

She marshalled all her woodland train 
Of mirth-makers, each part rehearsed ; 

Then waved her wand — they charged amain ! 
My heavy forces were dispersed. 

Alas ! alack ! and wel-a-day ; 

What shall a philosopher do ? 
In sooth, in truth, in deed he may 

Not cope with such a merry crew. 



HUMAN INFIRMITY 

WHEN I would fix my earnest, eager gaze 
Upon the glories of that life above, 
And vicAv with ever-growing, rapt amaze 
The nameless height and fulness of God's love, 
I may not in such lofty exercise 
Continue long and all things else forget. 
For to my weak and failing vision rise 
The cherished forms that memory clings to yet. 
And claim and will not be denied a share 
In the affection that on high is set : 
And shall the heart beneath such frailties fret ? 
Shall ardent aspiration then despair ? 
Or may not this familiar love so nigh 
A nearer token be of that on high ? 



74 



CELIA'S DOWRY 

WHEN I my Celia wooed and wed 
No dowry with her hand I sought ; 
But so happy the years that since have sped, 
Great treasure, surely, she must have brought 
For her dow^ry. 

How then can I, so blest, forbid 

My Muse to celebrate a part 
Of the rich mine of treasures hid 

Within my gentle Celia 's heart — 

Her dowry. 

A pearl is there of greatest price. 

Well worthy to adorn a crown ; 
Ye giddy jades, take my advice. 

Possess it ere the sun goes down — 

'Tis Discretion. 

Rubies are there that charm the eye 

With rich, deep lustre all aglow ; 
Ye selfish maids, they signify 

What w^ould transform your hearts, I trow — 
Love's Devotion. 

A sapphire blue to these I add, 

A gem of unobtrusive hue ; 
Proud beauties, if it can be had. 

Secure this gem, I counsel you — 

'Tis Modestv. 



75 



A lucent diamond I find 

That sparkles, turn it how you may ; 
Ye dames to bitter words inclined, 

Make haste to seek this gem, I pray — 

'Tis Good Temper, 

There is a golden coronet 

Among these gems, to grace her brow ; 
Ye peevish dames, so prone to fret, 

Go win this prize, if you know how — 
'Tis Patience. 

A silver brooch comes not amiss, 
Among these treasures be it named ; 

Ye covetous, strive after this. 
And, having it, be not ashamed — 

'Tis Contentment. 

Why should I tell of all the rest ? 

Too much already have I told ; 
But she that is of these possessed 

Hath more than house and lands, I hold, 
For her dowrv. 



76 

THE RETORT 

BUT if you cry—" Enough of this ! 
Pert rhymer, let us hear you prove 
What cause there be, if any is. 
Why Celia should return your love ;" 

I answer, " Modesty forbid 
That I should tell how happy she 

Was made by what she wisely did 
The day when she accepted me. 

Thus have I, modestly, I trust. 
Made claim to Modesty ; and next 

I shall proceed, if so I must, 
To preach, with Patience for a text. 

Who could more patient be than I ? 

I w^ho am joined to such a wife ; 
Her patience gives no chance to try 

My patience by vexatious strife. 

What next ? Good temper ? Who more free 
From all that irritates the soul ? 
For pure good temper look at me — 
When in the mood for self-control ! 

Of Love's Devotion why inquire ? 

Surely a bard so prompt to pen 
The praise of her he doth admire 

Must be devoted, of all men ! 



77 



Discretion, say you ? Ah, indeed ! 

Discretion's my especial pride ; 
If others charm me I proceed 

To sing the praises of my bride. 

But if, in truth, you wish to know 
If I a model husband be, 

Unto my gentle Celia go 
And bid her write an ode on me. 



7* 



STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 

I AM, in truth, a crabbed stick 
By nature ; prone to snarl and growl ; 
A misanthrope, of temper quick. 
Stamped with the signet of a scowl. 

The charms of nature I despised. 

The w^oodland scene and babbling brook : 
The bards were fools— so I surmised ; 

Proud common-sense their measure took. 

In days of old, when hermits dwelt 

Aloof in caves, I think I might 
Have fed on herbs and donned a pelt 

And set up for an anchorite. 

But in my horoscope was found 

A star of such sweet influence 
It dashed Sir Hermit to the ground 

And over-ruled my common-sense. 

And now the fates decree that I 

Do penance for my cynic pride 
And woo the gentler muse — tor why ? 

To spread the faith I once denied. 



79 



SONG: CELIA 

I LOVE fair scenes that charm the sight 
By mountain, meadow, wood, and lake; 
And the radiant floods of morning light 

That over the hills in glory break ; 
But there's a light in Celia's eye 
Doth shine undimmed, though dark the sky. 

Bright flowers there are and gardens fair 

That for a time delight the eye, 
But gone is the bloom, and the earth is bare 

When the nipping winter time draws nigh ; 
Yet Celia none of her charm hath lost 
Though Time hath touched her hair with frost. 

Oh happy he who by his side 

Hath one who smiles, though dark the day ; 
And blest, thrice blest is he whose bride 

Grows lovelier in his e\'es for aye ; 
What though skies change, flowers wither soon 
Let the heavens fall, if the heart's in tune. 



8o 



BELOVED, THOU ART AS A BOOK 

BELOVED, thou art as a book 
Wherein I daily read, 
Upon whose pages when I look 
No solace else I need. 

Each page that is familiar grown 

Each day delights me more ; 
And, lured by charms before unknown, 

On each new page I pore. 

Beloved, thou art as a book, 
A book that one would choose 

To read beside a murmuring brook 
That some stray zephyr woos ; 

When o'er the page the shadow falls 
Of some wide-spreading tree, 

While to his mate the bob-o'link calls 
And fills the fields with glee. 

Beloved, thou art as a book 

Whereof one may not tire ; 
That in some still, sequestered nook 

Fulfils the heart's desire. 



MORNING GLORIEvS 

PURPLE and pink and blue and white, 
Overhanging the foliage green, 
Opening in the morning light 

And lingering where the thick leaves screen 
Their tender bloom from the noon-day glare — 
Who does not love these blossoms fair. 

The morning glories? 

In the shade of the vines the children play, 

Laughing, prattling, full of glee ; 
Fair as the flowers at dawn of daj'^ 

They cluster about their mother's knee, 
Their young hearts screened from the world's fierce 

glare — 
God's grace rest on these blossoms fair. 

These morning glories ! 



52 



BESIDE THE STILL WATERS 

HER beauty is not all revealed 
In laughing eye and rounded cheek ; 
The palm to others she must yield 
If 'tis for sparkling wit you seek ; 
Nor is she, it may be confest, 
More marvelously than others drest. 

She hath no skill to attract the eye 

Or shine conspicuous over all ; 
The busy Mrorld goes hustling by, 

And crowds her, shrinking, to the wall ; 
It is not hers to charm the heart 
Of multitudes — she dwells apart. 

But to her own true love, 'tis true, 
She hath a charm that never wanes ; 

Each passing year she doth renew 
That charm, which added sweetness gains 

The heart that rests on her doth find 

That priceless boon, a quiet mind. 

The freshness of a childlike heart 

Is hers — unjaded, pure, serene; 
To her is given the subtle art 

To avert care's poisoned arrows keen. 
To instil a joy that doth endure, 
For worldh^ cares this world's best cure. 



ON WEDLOCK 

LET those who will decry 
^ The sacred, mystic tie 
That doth two spirits bind 
When they are of one mind. 

To me this is a book 
Wherein I love to look ; 
Wherein God's holy will 
Is manifested still. 

Here Time, who flies so fast, 
Hath graven all the past ; 
In thee, beloved, I trow, 
Live saints of long ago. 

And prophecies are here 
Of sweet fulfilment near ; 
And runes that point away 
To the far judgment day. 

As page by page we scan 
This word of God to man, 
Purge thou, O Lord, our sight. 
To read thy message right. 



84 



A DITTY FOR LOVERS 

LOVERS, tell me this, I pray, 
^ Who it is to whom you owe 
Largest debt ? the which to pay 
Doting lovers oft are slow. 

Who bade Vetiiis and her crew 
From his lips new mandates take ; 

Die, or be baptized anew 
And gain far more than the}^ forsake ? 

Who taught Cupid, ruthless rogue ! 

To essay a deeper craft, 
Drop light arts sometime in vogue, 

With truer aim to wing each shaft ? 

Who has placed upon Love's brow 

A glory that outshines the sun ? 
Who, crowned with thorns, shows lovers how 

Love's undying power is won ? 



A GREEK STATUE 



STRENGTH, dignity, and grace are there, 
And beauty irresistible 
For loveliness— surpassing fair. 

Replete with power! but who could tell, 
In speech, the marvel subtly wrought, 
Or show that form, in marble caught ! 

Oh ! matchless mind of God to trust 
That creature of the heavenly spheres 

To this rude earth, where moth and rust 
Corrupt, where beauty genders tears ! 

Yet there, benignant, calm, she stands— 

A woman, as from God's own hands! 

O radiant being ! may each eye 
That rests on thee be filled with tears ; 

Tears for the sorrow that doth lie 
Before thee in the troubled years : 

Thy horoscope is dark with woe; 

Thy cup of grief will oft o'erflow. 

Yet not for dark eclipse was given 
The glory throned upon thy brow ; 

The clouds above thy pathway riven, 
I see thee stand triumphant now ; 

And Bethlehem's manger hath made known 

The end here prophesied in stone. 



86 



STAND BACK AND VIEW THY WORK 



STAND back and view thy work— how much it lacks 
Of a divine completeness ! Hastily 
This part was wrought, and unrelated that 
To the main purpose ; disproportioned here 
And with no settled thought or aim— no trace 
Of the high master-spirit that moulds great art ; 
Unsympathetic here, untouched by the grace 
Of human tenderness ; and here no spark 
Of inspiration with its hallowed flame 
Of heavenly fire— stand back and view thy work ! 



87 



II 

YES, all you say is true ; this much I add— 
You look to the end and set a lofty mark ; 
I started out without an end in view, 
Did this, tried that, and followed Fancy's bent 
Or hard necessity, nor thought to attain 
A lofty purpose such as you imply. 
What then ? You now demand it ; can it be 
There's something in my work that points beyond 
To better things ? If it be not all you ask, 
It seems some hidden power is leading on 
To what I meant not, never hoped to be: 
Can God have use for these poor tools of mine ? 



THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY 

HAD I the painter's art to trace 
Upon the canvas all that goes 

To make the record of a face — 
The lineaments, the eye where glows 

The very semblance of the soul- 
Had I such skill I would portray 

A lady's face : as to the pole 
The needle turns, so should the swaj^ 

Of that sweet face entrance the eye 

Of every mortal that drew nigh. 

A portrait it should be of one 

Whose heart is full of gentleness ; 
Who glads this earth as doth the sun, 

With brightly shining beams that bless 
Where'er they fall ; when she doth speak 

Her voice is soft as is a lute. 
And sweet as songs of birds when bleak 

Old Winter's blustering storms grow mute; 
So should rude speech be charmed away 
Bv her meek converse, day by day. 



89 



But how could mute, dead canvas show 

All this and more that should be there ? 
The tact that guides the eas\' flow 

Of speech, the unobtrusive care 
For others' happiness, the deeds 

Wrought by her hands, the patient hope 
That silent but expectant pleads 

In the poised head, the generous scope 
Of the heart's sympath}' to feel 
And wiseh' meet life's deep appeal. 

The picture ?— bare the canvas stands, 

And these poor phrases ne'er can place 
The image there ; but other hands 

May show — have shown the nameless face; 
Nay, seek and you shall find ere long 

Some pictured dame of long ago, 
The very subject of mj^ song — 

*'The portrait of ," and name below 

And some, without the painter's aid, 
On living hearts have been portrayed. 



po 



NATURE'S VARIETY 

SOME fruits are sweet and some are tart 
And some are bitter to the taste; 
Some please the eye, their outward part 

Such goodly promise gives we haste 
To enjoy the wealth that lies within ; 

Some yield them to the eager tooth, 
That may at once their substance win ; 

Yet have some sweets a shell uncouth, 
A prickly burr that openeth 

Only to Time's imperious knock. 
When autumn's frosty, nipping breath 

Their hidden treasures doth unlock. 

If apples, olives, lemons, all 

Were sweet as honey there would be 
A surfeit of these sweets to pall 

Upon the taste ; but now we see 
A bounteous feast where all may find 

Something to please, a varied round — 
The melon with its tough, thick rind, 

The tender peach, the grain that's ground 
By crushing millstones ere it yields 

Our daily bread, and in their time 
Grow^ berries in the sunny fields 

Which for a day are in their prime. 



Herein a parable we see 

Which any simple wight may read, 
How Nature's wide diversity 

Doth satisfy man's varied need; 
And this wise method she pursues 

In all her works, no less in man 
Than in the fruits whence he may choose 

His daily food ; lier liberal plan 
For the soul's need provides as well 

Its sustenance, plain truths doth pack 
In prickly burr or rough, hard shell 

For shrewd experience to crack. 

And for that women are the flower 

Of Nature's works we ma3' inquire 
If Nature here doth jorove her power 

To match their charms to man's desire. 
In truth, she makes no two the same, 

What more could captious man demand ? 
Including in the one brief name 

Of "woman " stately sotils and grand, 
And simple-hearted, lowly lives; 

And some are sweet and some are tart, 
In some each virtue open thrives. 

While Vjitterest rind oft hides true heart. 



92 

PHYLLIS OF THE HIGHLANDvS 

WHEN Phyllis would be going 
About her task each day, 
'Tis " Bring my steed for I must speed !'' 

And away she flies, away ! 
When Phyllis would be going. 

When Phyllis goes a-flying 

The mountain road along, 
The spruce trees stand on either hand. 

Birds greet her with a song, 
When Phyllis goes a-flying. 

The bee is in the clover 

And blooming is the rose. 
And clumps of fern she may discern 

As on her way she goes — 
The bee is in the clover. 

The brook along the wayside 

Runs sparkling in the sun, 
Then slips awa}^ to hide and play. 

Its journey but begun — 
The brook along the wayside. 

Soon smiling children greet her, 
The school-house is at hand, 

Where she doth teach the parts of speech 
And tell of sea and land — 

Soon smiling children greet her. 



9J 



She calls the class in spelling, 

The bright-eyed boys and girls, 
Barefooted tots in polka dots 

And some with flaxen curls- 
She calls the class in spelling. 

When lessons all are over. 

Then homeward Phyllis hies ; 
'Tis '' Bring my steed for I must speed !" 

And homeward Phyllis flies, 
When lessons all are over. 

When homeward hies fair Phyllis 

The brook flows babbling by. 
The sweet birds sing, the wild flowers spring, 

The fir-trees softly sigh, 
When homeward hies fair Phvllis. 



PHYLLIS OF THE LOWLANDS 

WHEN Phyllis goes a-shopping 
She takes the early train 
And whisks along amid the throng 

Who fill the marts with gain — 
When Phyllis goes a-shopping. 

She reads the morning paper 
Where bargains tempt the eye, 

And makes a list that doth consist 
Of what she fain would buy — 

She reads the morning paper. 

She thinks of all the children 
And all their endless needs — 

Some shoes, a coat ; she makes a note, 
"Those youngsters grow like weeds' 

She thinks of all the children. 

She takes a turn at Macy'vS, 

And looks around awhile ; 
She notes a hat and this and that; 

Clerks greet her with a smile — 
She takes a turn at Macy's. 

She glances at the bargains 

And buys a thing or two — 
A reefer gay, a dainty spray 

Of ragged sailors blue — 
She glances at the bargains. 



She spends an hour at Altman's 

And likewise at O'Neill's, 
'Mid pots and pans, green corn in cans 

Her purse much lighter feels — 
She spends an hour at Altman's. 

Her cash is soon expended, 

A tireless shopper she ; 
Another lot, I know not what, 

Is ordered C. O. D.— 
Her cash is soon expended. 

When PhylHs homeward turneth 

It is with longing eye ; 
Great bargains stand on either hand, 

She leaves them with a sigh — 
When Phyllis homeward turneth. 



96 



WHAT SHALL IT BE ? 

A BIRTHDAY gift ! I cannot tell 
What most of all would please you 
A seal-skin would the cold repel 

When wintr\' blizzards freeze you ; 
A diamond might be good— to sell; 
But no — I must not tease you. 

Or if we speak of meaner things, 
Perhaps you'd like some dishes, 

Adorned with flowers and flitting wings, 
And some with darting fishes. 

And a tiny tea-kettle that sings 
An echo of your wishes. 

Or if not these, why not a hook ? 

A novel entertaining. 
Some tale wherein, In^ hook or crook. 

The interest never waning, 
The common fate at last o'ertook 

Some heart, love's power disdaining. 

True ! china dishes go to smash 

And stories soon are ended ; 
And jewels, though they gleam and flash 

Are useless as they're splendid — 
But how about a little cash ? 

I hope you're not offended. 



IN HONOR OF AN LXXX BIRTHDAY 

A FAIRY OUEEN 

A FAIRY queen ! Where can she be ? 
Pray tell me, did you ever see, 
Beneath our democratic skies 
Where royalty dismantled lies, 
A lady of such hi^h degree ? 

No titled queen of state have we, 
Save one, the queen of Liberty, 
And she to our fair land denies 
A fairy queen. 

But children, come, just follow me, 
There! gather round Aunt Mary's knee; 
0-ho ! my meaning you surmise, 
I read it in your laughing eyes ; 
We'll be the fairy crew, and she, 
A fairy queen ! 



FROM DAWN TO DAY 

AS we gaze on the sky while the dayspring is rising 
And watch the grej' firmament blossom with dawn, 
Each moment reveals what the night was disguising, 
Rare beauties that bloom but to blush and be gone. 

We may not detain them, we can but behold them. 
The on-rushing day spurns each glory he brings ; 

He heeds not the loss of the charms that enfold them. 
But, brighter and higher, new glories he flings. 

And if from our hearts fades the dawn with its sweetness 
Or ever we knew that the sweetness was there, 

May ours be the glow of a grander completeness 
In place of youth's daybreak, so brief, ^--et so fair. 



THREE SCORE AND TEN 

AN ode for three score years and ten ! 
An ode ! a birthday greeting ! 
A song for one who cheered us when 
Our infant days were fleeting. 

But oh ! we cannot match the songs 

She sang so sweetly o'er us, 
Nor render what of right belongs 

To her, in one brief chorus. 

Long years she bore us in her arms 
And soothed our childish sorrows, 

And held aloof the dread alarms 
That darkened our to-morrows. 

What loving deeds were hers ! What cares ! 

What tender thoughts unspoken ! 
Too large the debt— the Muse declares 

The Bank of Odes is broken. 

LtrfC. 



TO MY FIRST LOVE 



A VALENTINE I now indite 
To one who loved me at first sight : 
I wooed her with my first shrill cry 
And won her heart, she can't deny. 

There is no language that expresses 
The rapture of our first caresses, 
My heart kept beating, " Pity me ! " 
And hers replied, " I do, you see." 

Our courtship days were full of joy. 
Though I was young, still but a boy ; 
We had a blissful honeymoon, 
Alas ! it ended all too soon. 

But while those first delights must wane 
And scarce in memor\^'s power remain. 
No breach of promise suit I bring, 
" She loves mc still," I still mav sins:. 



GRANDMA'S VALENTINE 

GRANDMA, here's a valentine 
From one who cannot pen a line, 
But Papa will write for me 
And so your Valentine I'll be. 

All I've got to say is this, 
I send my love and throw a kiss ; 
If you look hard everywhere 
You may find it in the air. 

I don't know what else to say, 
Guess I'll stop awhile and play ; 
But I'll be your Valentine, 
Grandma dear, and you'll be mine. 



ST. VALENTINE'S WARNING 

NAY, do not wear thj^ simple heart 
So jaunty-careless on thy sleeve, 
Lest Cupid aim a flying dart 
Without so much as " By your leave." 

For if thou have no armor on 

When prankish Cupid is at play, 
What though thy heart be whole at dawn, 
'Twill bleed— 'twill bleed ere close of day ! 



I03 



A VALENTINE TO MARGARET 

THERE is no lady in the land 
So winsome as my dearie ; 
To her I pledge my heart and hand — 
My Valentine, my dearie ! 

She scowls and frowns and winks her eyes 

And looks her daddy over, 
To see if she has drawn a prize 

With hopes to live in clover. 

And then— far banished be annoy ! 

She smiles and shows a dimple, 
And fairly bubbles o'er with joy— 

Her views of life so simple. 

There is no lady in the land 

So winsome as my dearie ; 
To her I pledge my heart and hand— 

Mv Valentine, mv dearie ! 



A PRAYER 

OPEARLvS lie hid in the depths of the sea 
And deep in the earth is gold ; 
But I pray my God that He would unto me 
His treasures of truth unfold. 

And sunk in a pit of miry clay 

The sparkling diamonds lie ; 
But I pray my God He would point the way 

To gems that shall shine on high. 

O deep in the heart of the new-born day 

Lie blessings jxt to be ; 
Grant me, dear Lord, as the hours flee away, 

To set those blessings free. 

O deep, yea deep in mau}^ a soul 

Love's treasures darkly hide ; 
But through Thj^ grace may I reach that goal. 

The goal of the Crucified. 



INEQUALITY 

I DO not ask that thou wouldst fill 
My cup and pass m^^ brother by; 
Na3' rather, in my heart instil 
The praj^er that he may thrive as I. 

Or if it be thy will that he 
Should far exceed what I attain, 

May I, from envious grieving free, 
Rejoice to count my loss his gain, 

One thing I ask, denj^ it not. 
Be my estate or high or low ; 

Upon us both, w^hate'er our lot. 
Thy Spirit graciously bestow ; 

And let us walk through life as friends, 
Unsevered by the more or less 

Of fortune's gifts, while love amends 
Our seeming failure or success. 



io6 



WEDDINGS 

THERE'S weddings and there's weddings! 
Some have 'em in the church, 
Where hosts of friends come flocking in 
And the organ makes a merry din 
And everybody stands to see 
The bride, as grand as bride can be ; 
And bridesmaids, following in her train. 
Sweep through the throng of necks a-crane, 
And the father gives the bride away, 
And the church is decked for a gala-day— 
O, there's weddings and there's weddings ! 

Yes, there's weddings and there's weddings ! 

Receptions, to be sure ! 
And a room that's overflowing 
With the generous bestowing 
Of friends from far and near — 
With silver and gold and crystal clear. 
'Mid the hum of friendly voices 
The bridegroom's heart rejoices, 
And the bride is wreathed in smiles 
As she greets her friends in files — 
O, there's weddings and there's weddings ! 



/07 



Yes, there's weddings and there's weddings ! 

Some have 'em in the house, 
And if the house be small, 
Why, any house at all 
Will hold a bride and groom 
And give the parson room, 
And a whispered word or two 
Does the business — very true ! 
And bride and groom may render 
Each to each a love as tender — 
0, there's weddings and there's weddings! 

Yes, there's weddings and there's weddings! 

But the main thing, after all. 
Is not the number there. 
Nor the train of bridesmaids fair. 
Nor the flow^ers on every hand. 
Nor the music sweet and grand. 
Nor the gifts so fine to see. 
Nor the merry-hearted glee 
When the carriage rolls away 
With the heroes of the day — 
O, there's weddings and there's weddings! 



jo8 



WE'RE GITTIN' MIDDLE-AGED 

WE'RE gittin' middle-aged, my dear, 
We're gittin' middle-aged, 
There ain't no poetry fer us 

Like when we wuz ingaged ; 
Fer in the meetin' t'other day, 

When I was dow^n to town 
The parson said ez much — I 'low 
It kinder took me down. 

"Youth is the time fer poetry," 

The parson sez. sez he, 
"The time fer dreams an' visions like 

An' all sech flummerie ; 
Youth is the time when hearts is soft 

An' tender — but, ghee- whizz! 
There comes another time when we 

Mus' settle down to biz. 

"An' ez we struggle up the steep 

Thet leads to middle-age 
The dewy freshness of the dawn 

Gits dry ez prairie sage ; 
The bird that made the tree-tops ring 

With w^oodland music sweet 
Won't sing a note to cheer us 

When the dust is on our feet. 



IVE'RE GfTTIN' MIDDLE-AGED 

" The maiden thet moves fancy free 

The verdant meads among, 
Maj' hev a feelin' fer life's joy, 

An' fill the fields with song. 
But when it comes to keepin' house 

An' bakin' pies an' things, 
Her feelin 's take a different turn 

An' now she never sings." 

I'm only tellin' 3^ou, ni}^ dear, 

Wot I heerd t'other daj^. 
An' all the sad an' solemn things 

I heerd the parson say ; 
Fer we're gittin' middle-aged, my dear. 

We're gittin' middle-aged. 
There ain't no poetry fer us 

Like when we v^uz ingaged. 

"The head thet's crowned with silver. 

Scarred by each passing year, 
May, like enough, w^in vsilverj^ words 

From poets fur an' near. 
An' poetrj^ ma}^ plant her flowers 

Along life's downward slope 
To honor them thet's done their work. 

To fill their hearts with hope. 

"But "when a man comes home at night. 
Worn out with fret an' care. 

An' when his testy growls an' snarls 
Make music in the air, 



WE'RE GITTIN' MfDDLE-AGED 

Why then, you see, the halo 

Thet glorified life's morn, 
Hez sort o' vanished, an' his bride 

Looks pensive an' forlorn." 

I can't quite tell it all, my dear, 

Jes in the parson's way, 
It's all so strange an' new, you see— 

Jes heerd it t'other day ; 
But we're gittin' middle-aged, my dear, 

We're gittin' middle-aged, 
Ther ain't no poetry fer us 

Like when we wuz ingaged. 

There's Tom an' Kate an' little Jim, 

A-growin' up so fast, 
An' all chuck full o' poetry. 

The kind thet's goin' to last ; 
In watchin' of their youthful ways 

One thing we clean forgot— 
Thet we wuz gittin' middle-aged 

An' prosy an' wot not. 

The little chick thet's cuddlin' there 

So cozy in yer arins 
May dream of heaven an' angels bright, 

Unscared by rude alarms ; 
But we thet knows there's bills to pay 

An' house-rent an' all that. 
Why, if we saw an angel 

We'd like ez not crv " scat !" 



WE'RE GITTIN' MIDDLE-AGED 

Leastwise, that's wot the parson said 

At meetin' in the town, 
But when I come to tell 't to you 

Somehow it don't go down ; 
An' when I think on't, seems to me 

There wuz another pint 
In that discourse thet on us all 

Was seriously injint — 

Suthin' about life's duties 

An' the joy of sacrifice, 
It ain't the poetry thet's gone 

But we thet need new eyes ; 
But 'taint no use to whop around 

An' manufacter cheer 
When that idee hez got a start 

A-dingin' in each ear — 

We're gittin' middle-aged, my dear, 

We're gittin' middle aged, 
There aint no poetry' fer us 

Like w^hen w^e w^uz ingaged ! 



THE JOLLY OLD DOMINIE 

THERE'S a jolly old dominie over in Troy ! 
Over in Troy ! 
Though his years are fourscore he's a genuine boy, 

A genuine boy ! 
His eyes are all sparkles, so piercing and keen, 
His smile is the cheeriest smile ever seen. 
His handshake is hearty, a grip that takes hold. 
His years are fourscore, but he doesn't seem old. 
For his voice has a thunderous accent of joy. 
This jolly old dominie over in Troy, 

Over in Troy ! 

Oh, this jolly old dominie over in Troy ! 

Over in Troy ! 
And what do you think is his blissful employ, 

His bhssful employ ? 
For fifty odd years there have come to his door 
Fond couples who stopped for an hour — nothing 

more — 
And went away happy as happy could be ; 
They number by this time a thousand times three. 
Oh, where could you find a more blissful employ 
Than that of the dominie over in Troy ? 

Over in Trov ! 



"3 



Sure, every one knows of him over in Trov, 

Over in Troy ! 
His hearty "God bless you!" is brimming with 

joy, 

Brimming with joy. 
They like him because he is full to the brim 
Of goodness and sunshine and gladness— that's 

him! 
And he makes it so easy to say why they came; 
If thev're bashful— no matter— nobody's to blame; 
No wonder they think him the dearest old boy, 
This jolly old dominie over in Troy, 
Over in Tro3^ •' 

Oh, this jolly old dominie over in Troy, 

Over in Troy ! 
He believes in the venture that doubles man's joy. 

Doubles man's joy. 
It is not a mere matter of cash and expense. 
As any one knows with the least grain of sense ; 
'Tis the pathway to happiness all the world o'er, 
If any man doubts it just show him the door! 
With a health to all couples that double their joy. 
And the same to the dominie over in Troy, 

Over in Trov ! 



114 

THE SNOW 

O GENTLE snow descending 
Upon the earth so still, 
Transfiguring with thy whiteness 

The street, the field, the hill ! 
O gentle snow-flakes hov'ring 

So lightly in the air, 
And tenderly, softly, covVing 

The wearied earth so bare ! 
O robe of heavenly texture ! 

O beauty from on high ! 
Caught up from earth unspotted 

And woven in the sky ! 

The bustling, busy city, 

When hushed in peaceful night, 
Is clothed in softest raiment 

Of pure, unsullied white : 
On every roof it gathers. 

On hovel and on hall. 
Foul filth and squalor hiding, 

And beautifying all. 

Out in the open country, 

When crops are gathered home, 
A quilt of downy snow-flakes 

Falls on the stiflening loam ; 
The summer's work is ended. 

The land refreshment seeks, 
And, for a Sabbath season, 

Waits through the winter weeks 



The desolate old mountains, 

With solitude begirt, 
Receive a priestly mantle 

With flowing length of skirt : 
Their snowy heads, at sun-down. 

Are crowned with clearest light, 
Telling to toil and trouble 

Of glory infinite, 

Thou'rt trampled in the city, 

Art melted from the plain. 
Only on peaks uplifted 

To heaven thou dost remain ! 
O fulness of Redemption ! 

O fallen race of men ! 
Sinners, one year forgiven. 

Must be forgiven again. 

O gentle snow descending 

Upon the earth so still, 
Transfiguring with thy whiteness 

The street, the field, the hill ! 
O glory everlasting, 

More than this earth can show. 
When sins of all the ages 

Shall whiter be than snow ! 



THE CLOUDS 

YE clouds that sail the heavens bright. 
Shadowy forms from vapor sprung, 
Glowing with refulgent light, 

Or at night 
Rolling dark the stars among, 
Fain would I your glories sing 
While I gaze unwearying, 
Spell-bound by each transient phase 
The scenery of the sky displays. 

Poets oft your charms have sung, 

All your various, changing show, 
Now like fleecy curtains hung 

Or grandly flung 
From mountain summits capped with snow 
Fairy-like, with soft festoon 
Ye half conceal the smiling moon ; 
In feathery flecks 3^e calmly rest 
Upon the zenith's azure breast. 

Endless is the shifting play 

Of your drifted, rifted ranks, 
Stern as battle's grim arrays 

Or as gay 
As nodding flowers on river banks : 
With imagery that charms the eye 
Your silent pageantrj- moves by, 
Lit by many a passing hue 
That tints the skv, then fades from view. 



Unsubstantial things ye seem, 
Playthings of the zephyr's breath ; 
Evanescent as a dream 

That flings a gleam 
Athwart the slumberer's seeming death 
Elusive as the fitful fire 
That moves the bard to tune his lyre ; 
Ethereal as an infant's prayer, 
Wafted on the evening air. 

Poised on airy, tireless wings, 

Phantoms of the sky, ye float, 
Far above gross, earthly things 

Or bird that springs 
To greet the dawn with warbled note : 
Gallantly before the gale 
Your huge, majestic squadrons sail ; 
Beneath your shadow, murky black, 
The raging cyclone tears his track. 

Lowly though your birthplace be. 

Straight ye gain aerial hights ; 
Misty offspring of the sea. 

Ye wander free, 
Unconfined as fancy's flights ; 
Beckoning toward that higher sphere. 
Far removed, unclouded, clear. 
Where the unfathomed firmament 
Roofs the stars with changeless tent. 



ii8 



THE VOICE OF THE PRESS 

Ode sung at the laying of the corner stone of the new 
Building of the New YorkMAiL and Express, August 19, 1891. 

Portuguese National Air 

'iy yf'ID the city's deep roar and unceasing 
J_V-L commotion, 
Where surges the hoarse metropoHtan 
tide, 
Where beat the huge waves of humanity's 
ocean, 
And wide-rolling breakers dash high in 
their pride, 
Where the incoming tides of great cities are 
flowing, 
And man feels the strain of life's multi- 
plied stress. 
Where the keen winds of commerce are 
constantly blowing, — 
Far out, o'er it all, swells the voice of the 
press. 

When fogs gather thick around headland 
and island. 
When low-muttered threats of a tempest 
are heard, 
When o'er the wide plain and the far-dis- 
tant highland 
The hurricane sweeps till the mountains 
are stirred ; 



up 



When deep calls to deep, when the heavens 
are riven, 
When war clouds portend a great nation's 
distress, 
When the thundering war horse to battle 
is driven, — 
O'er all peals a tocsin, the patriot press. 

The voice of the press,— 'mid the din and 
the rattle 
It rises above the sharp clatter of trade ; 
It pierces the deep-booming thunder of 
battle. 
It mourns o'er the grave where the hero 
is laid ; 
It heralds the birth-hour of Freedom and 
Glory ; 
It welcomes the empire of Truth and of 
Love; 
It blazons the path of that marvelous 
story 
That rings through the ages and echoes 
above. 



THE WORD 

THE foolish worker who wields a thought! 
There he toils ; nor spade nor sword 
Strikes the foe or turns the sward : 
Tell me, worker, what hast thou wrought ? 

The word is mightier than the sword, 

With this I lay the foeman low : 

Error only I count my foe, 
Truth victorious, my reward. 

Error ? Tell me, what may that Ije ? 

Pilate, is there a thing called Truth ? 

Answers Pilate, I know to my ruth ; 
A new god risen in Galilee. 

Came a peasant, the priest of Thought, 
Unveiled Truth to the common heart ; 
Error muttered, " O Truth, depart; 

Else my empire cometh to nought." 

Empire wide as the widening world. 
Empire built on resistless power. 
Such was the Roman's princely dower ; 

To earth the banner of Truth he hurled. 



Truth unsheathed her gHttering blade, 
Sharper that than a two-edged sword : 
Cleft asunder, destroyed, abhorred, 

Error low in the dust is laid. 

* -s- ■::- -?:• ^:- •» 

With life and death his work is fraught : 
Death to the scattering hordes of night, 
Life to the souls that love the light ; 

The mighty worker who wields a thought ! 



REJOICE, YE DESERT PLACES 

REJOICE, ye desert places, 
And blossom as the rose, 
A light new-risen effaces 

Yonr gloom, and sweetly glows; 
In glory nobler, grander 

Than earth hath ever seen. 
Her well-approved Commander 
Draws near with radiant mien. 

Rejoice, ye desolations. 

Where sorrow reigned of old ; 
The Hope of all the nations 

His banner doth unfold ; 
O thou who wast forsaken, 

Down-trodden and oppressed, 
From griefs long night awaken 

To anthems of the blest. 

O come. Thou King of glory, 

Come quickly to Thy throne, 
Fulfil the ancient story, 

We claim Thee for our own ; 
Set free the hearts that languish 

In dungeons dark and drear, 
Ciive songs of joy for anguish. 

Thou bringer of good cheer. 



I2J 



MARGARET 

MY Margaret, my Margaret, 
Sweet baby Margaret ! 
Thy laughing eyes where love-tides rise, 

Are my heart's treasure yet ; 
I see thee in thy mother's arms, 

Lulled by her love to rest. 
The light of heaven upon thy brow, 
Thy cheek upon her breast. 

My Margaret, my Margaret, 

Sweet baby Margaret ! 
Thy dimpled smiles and cunning wiles 

How can I all forget ? 
The gleam that lighted up thy face 

With recognizing j 03^ — 
To win that smile at peek-a-boo 

Was bliss without alloy. 

My Margaret, my Margaret, 

Sweet baby Margaret ! 
'Tis thou dost play at hide-awa\^ 

Our eyes with tears are wet ; 
O greet us in the days to come 

With that same smile of love — 
What sweeter welcome could there be 

In God's own heaven above ! 



LOSS AND GAIN 

OTHE dread and the fear and the anguish, 
And the heart how it shrinks from the 
pain, 
From the thought of pain and the waiting, 

And the loss of all it would fain 
Achieve were the hours untrammeled 
By the claims of a dawning soul — 
O the dread and the fear and the anguish ! 
Of welcome how scant the dole ! 

O the hope and the bliss and the transport, 

And the heart how it leaps for joy ! 
the peace and the glad fruition, 

Untroubled by grief's alloy ! 
O the triumph that crowns the anguish, 

The thrill of a life new-born — 
Forgot are the long night watches 

In the glow of the rising morn. 

O the grief and the tears and the sorrow, 

When the life that was nursed in love 
Is claimed by the Heavenly Father 

And recalled to his arms above ; 
Forgot are the fears and the labors 

And the cares of the years gone by. 
And the heart cries out in its anguish, 

" O whv must mv loved one die !'' 



I2S 



O stars that shine in the darkness ! 
O gleam of hope in despair ! 

O gHmpse of the new-world glory ! 
dream of an Eden fair ! 

O light of a new day d awning- 
Even now heaven's herald appears ; 

O joy of the resurrection 
When God wipes away all tears ! 



726 



FOR THANKSGIVING DAY 

OLord, Thou knowest all our wants, 
Thou dost Thy creatures feed, 
The conies in the riven rocks, 
The sparrows when they need. 

We w^ould to Thee our trusting hearts 

Uplift in thankful lays, 
And join with all created things 

To sing aloud Thy praise. 

Let not misgivings mar our peace, 

Nor doubts nor fears annoy ; 
Grant us not only daily bread, 

But hope and trust and joy. 



/27 



HYMN— COMB WHEN THOU WILT 

COME, Thou who comest like the wafted air; 
Unseen, yet making all I see more fair; 
Unheard, yet filling all my heart wdth song; 
Impalpable, Thy presence makes me strong. 

Come when Thou wWt, O fetterless and free, 
Man has no shackles that can fetter Thee ; 
No slave art Thou in awe of his behest, 
Thou dwellest where Thou art a welcome guest. 

Come when Thou wilt, to fill my heart-felt need ; 
For Thee I thirst, unto my thirst give heed ; 
What though my heart may comprehend Thee not, 
What though Thy w^ord too quickly is forgot. 

Come when Thou wilt, even when my faith is weak, 

Thou who dwellest with the lowly, meek ; 
No wings have I to seek Thee in the air. 

No means to find Thee save the voice of prayer. 

1 need Thee still, however blest before. 

My greatest need is still to know Thee more ; 
Come, gracious Spirit, be not far to seek. 
Abide with me, who else am poor and weak. 

Shine where Thou wilt. Thou sunshine of the Lord, 
Thou art my life, my hope, m}^ great reward ; 
In Thy clear shining sin shall flee away, 
And all mv darkness turn to glorious dav. 



FEB 23 1901 



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